


Father's Day

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Series: Father Figures [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brian Needs a Hug, Clint is emotionally competent, Clint is good at hugs, Family Drama, Family Issues, M/M, Marital Problems, Mark needs a hug, Phil is good at long-distance hugs, mostly - Freeform, phil is wise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:32:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Father's Day never meant much to Clint, but now he has one(plus a step-dad) he likes, so it does. Of course, even fathers have problems and need help from time to time.





	Father's Day

It was Pepper who made Clint stop in his tracks and nearly spill the coffee he was carrying. She was talking to someone else, but he overheard her saying, “Father’s Day this year is going to be fun for you, isn’t it?” She was probably talking to her assistant, who’d had a baby over Christmas; the tower business offices had been a mishmash of Christmas lights and green and yellow baby decorations.

Clint stopped in his tracks, though, and only managed to keep all of the coffee in the cup thanks to a deft arm maneuver. He shook his head, kept walking, and when he handed Phil the coffee, he got an, “Are you okay?” from Phil before he even managed to step away. Clint nodded and sat down for the meeting. Only because Phil was busy running the thing did he get away from talking about it right then.

Father’s Day. Clint closed his eyes for a second and took a deep, centering breath so he could focus on the meeting. He only managed thanks to years of experience.

“Talk to me, Clint,” Phil said that night as they worked around each other in the kitchen to make dinner.

Clint finished chopping the carrot for salad before he asked, “Did you celebrate Father’s Day with your dad before he died?” Phil’s dad wasn’t off-limits conversation or anything, but Clint had learned that talking about him could send Phil into a subdued mood if it wasn’t handled well. Clint thought maybe if Phil knew he needed help, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

The sound of tearing lettuce paused for a second and then started again. “Yes. My mom and I always conspired to do something for him that day.”

“What kinds of things did you do?” Clint asked, and reached around Phil for the block of cheddar and so he could brush his hand down Phil’s arm for a second – he wanted to acknowledge he knew this might be a hard conversation. Phil had loved his father fiercely.

Phil blew out a breath. “Well, when I was little, it was stuff like hand-made Father’s Day cards and pictures for his office walls, and then as I got older my mom and I would do our best to surprise him and go somewhere cool for the day, or one time we bought all the supplies to build a tree house and he and I spent the day putting it together.” He stopped and smiled at that memory. “That was my favorite.”

He shrugged and grinned at Clint. “Whatever we could do together that was fun, really. When I got my driver’s license I drove him to a diner, just the two of us, and we had more pancakes than any human should really be able to eat.” He put the bowls of lettuce in front of Clint so he could slide the carrots in.

Phil cut up the tomatoes and Clint started on the peppers, and Clint said, “I don’t know if I should do something for Brian for Father’s Day.”

Phil’s knife faltered and Clint glanced over. “I think he would love it,” Phil said.

Clint stared down at the peppers for a minute before he grinned. “Yeah, he would.”

Phil dumped the tomatoes in the bowls. “He won’t expect it you know. I mean, if you’re not comfortable.”

Clint knew that, too. Brian was Clint’s biological father, but they both knew it was more complicated than that after forty plus years of not knowing each other and then coming back into each other’s lives. He put the peppers in the bowls and bumped Phil’s shoulder. “He sure wouldn’t expect a tree house,” he said.

Phil laughed. “I spent a lot of hours in that tree house.”

Clint didn’t doubt it. Phil’s dad died when he was seventeen, and the treehouse was still there. Clint knows from experience that it’s a very cool tree house. They sat down at the table and started in on dinner, and Clint put the thoughts aside in favor of Phil’s famous spaghetti and the salads they’d built. He had a day or two before he had to decide anything.

Two days later he sat down in Pepper’s office and said, “I need a favor, if you can.”

She smiled and nodded. “Anything.”

<><><><><><><> 

Clint had made arrangements to visit Brian and Mark without much lead-time, and now that he was almost to their house in Akron, he stopped at a deserted, run-down rest area and had a mild panic attack amidst pamphlets about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. He dialed his phone.

“It’s too much,” he said as soon as Phil said hello.

Clint could hear Phil tell someone to take a break and he could hear Phil’s centering deep breath before he said to Clint, “It’s what you want to do for him, and that’s kind of what Father’s Day is about.”

Clint worked to get his own breathing under control and shook his head, as if Phil could see him.

Apparently Phil could read minds over the phone, too.  “It is. It’s about the kid getting a chance to show the parent how they feel. And how they feel is valid. How you’re feeling is valid.”

Clint tugged on his hair. “I’m 47 years old, Phil. I’ve known him a year, and I’m not sure what I’m feeling is anywhere near valid, never mind this over-the-top stupid plan of mine.”

“Clint,” Phil replied, in that velvety smooth field voice that Phil pulled out when he needed to make a point from a distance.  “You two have found love where nothing at all existed a year ago. You’ve found love and similarities that, thanks to biology, a lifetime apart couldn’t get rid of. There’s nothing stupid about this. He’s going to love every bit of it.”

Clint could feel his heart rate slowing back to normal, Phil’s magic insightfulness and caring soothing him once again. Clint was so fucking grateful that he and Phil had been smart enough to let each other into their lives. “He might not like the swing color.”

Phil laughed. “Mark texted that it actually would go well with their grey stone, and you chose a very classy shade.”

Clint sucked in a breath. “Okay. Okay. I should go. They’re expecting me for dinner.”

“Is Mark cooking?”

“No. Brian said he wasn’t around. He must be working, so I think we’ll order in.”

“Probably for the best. It’s amazing that we already know where your cooking talent _didn’t_ come from.”

Clint could hear the fondness in Phil’s voice and it warmed him to his toes. “Thanks? Anyway. Sorry I freaked out.”

“No problem. Got me out of a long conversation with Sanford.”

“Always a bonus. Okay,” Clint said. “Catch you later.”

“Let me know how phase one goes tonight.”

Clint smiled against the phone as he dug his car keys back out of his pocket and climbed back in for the last stretch. “I’ll call before you go to sleep.” Clint doesn’t actually sleep very well at Brian and Mark’s house, but it’s no one’s fault, unless you count Clint’s dumb brain. It’s like he wants to soak up everything about Brian when he can, so he just sort of wanders the house while the others sleep, looking at books on their shelf, poking through the photo albums they keep on display. He tries to sleep, but it hasn’t worked so well yet.

He finally pulled into the white concrete driveway that ran next to the bungalow-style stone house on the quiet neighborhood street that was tunneled with oak and weeping willow trees. When he got out of the car and knocked on the front door, no one answered.

Clint pushed the worry down and knocked again. Nothing. Brian knew what time he was going to be there, and he wasn’t late. He knocked again.

“Around back!” he heard, and had to blow out a shuddering breath of relief at the sound of Brian’s voice.

When he pushed through the dark oak gate, though, he stopped at the sight. Brian was sitting on the cement step of the back door, with his head in his hands, gripping his hair. He wore jeans that had holes in the knees, a faded gray t-shirt, and no shoes. Clint stood over him because there wasn’t much room on the step, and because he wasn’t sure what to do with this sight.

“Brian?”

“Mark left me.” Brian’s voice was shredded, and he didn’t look at Clint, just stared at his feet.

Clint dropped his duffel bag with a thud. “What?” he asked, but then recovered a bit. “When?”

Brian looked up, but he stared at the backyard, past Clint. “Three weeks ago.”

Clint bit his lip and looked around. There was a chair near the steps, so he sat down.  He let the news sit for a moment as he watched a robin peck at a log cabin bird feeder next to the cement patio. He replayed the last few phone conversations he’d had with Brian. He had been a little quieter than usual, but classes were drawing to a close for the semester and Clint had figured he’d just been a bit overworked. Now he looked at his father and saw lines of sadness in his face, shadows under his eyes, and a hunch in his shoulders that he had never noticed before.

“What do you need?” Clint asked softly.

Brian looked at him sharply and then closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Somehow I got my grades finished and turned in, somehow I’ve made it to the meetings I had to go to at the end of the term, and I had already decided not to teach this summer and just work on my current article and bum around with my kid and . . .” he swallowed, “Mark.” He stopped again, stared at his feet, and added, with a bitter edge to his voice, “We have tickets to two Broadway shows if you and Phil want them.”

“Brian…”

He looked up at Clint again with a sardonic smile. “I had planned on us coming over to visit you . We were going to spend a week there, Mark and I, because he’s never really gotten to be in New York with you and Phil. I thought…I thought he’d like it.”

A nauseating thought crept into Clint’s mind. “Brian,” he started.

“This is not your fault. It’s not. I . . . still haven’t figured out how to …” He laughed a bitter laugh as he stared out at the backyard again.

Clint watched carefully as the coffee he drank on the road turned sour in his stomach.

“Apparently I ‘have no chill’ as my students would say, when it comes to you, although that’s not what his words were,” Brian said bitterly.

“Brian,” Clint said again. This is about him. He did this with his inability to stop texting and calling every week, and he’d probably visited too often, jumped in too hard. Knowing Brian was here, though, and him being so easy to talk to, so easy to visit, so easy to be someone to fill a void in Clint that hadn’t known was even there.

“This isn’t on you, Clint, so just don’t. My relationship is a little more complicated than that, you know. It might have been a contributing cause, but it’s not the only one.” His voice was sharp, but not sharp like it could be with a jab like that. He sighed. “I should have called you to cancel. I’m sorry.”

Clint looked at him again. Really looked. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Brian just shrugged.

Clint closed his eyes for a minute and tried to settle his own breathing. “Let’s get you inside, get some dinner, and I’ll make a grocery run. Phil has this over the counter brand of sleep help he likes. I’ll get you some. You should sleep tonight.”

Brian nodded and stood. He leaned into Clint’s shoulder and Clint felt the warmth that always came when he touched Brian in hugs or handshakes. It was like warm cider on an October night, even now when things were crap. He wrapped his arm around Brian’s shoulder and watched as tears tracked silently down his face. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” he whispered.

Brian nodded. “Okay,” he replied, and they stood there on the back patio leaning into each other as another robin came to the feeder and twittered around and the sun started to set in the sky.

 “Where is Mark?” Clint asked later that night as he watched Brian make up the bed in the spare room. They’d eaten a pizza and Brian had been unusually quiet through most of the night once Clint got his luggage settled.

Brian leaned over the step to tuck the sheet under the end of the bed. “He’s got a good friend with an extra room. He’s there for the moment.”

“Are you guys talking? Trying to work it out?”

Brian was quiet as he finished making the bed, and then he straightened up. “You mentioned something to help me sleep?”

Clint blinked. Brian was deflecting. Huh. “Yeah. I picked it up when I went for food.”

He dug around for the bottle and shook a couple out for Brian.

“I’m sorry for being terrible company, Clint,” he said, and he smiled an exhausted smile. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

 “I’m sorry things are awful right now. Get some sleep.”

Brian nodded and headed back to his bedroom. Before he went in, though, he turned and called, “Hey Clint.”

Clint leaned out of his bedroom.

“You can tell Phil what’s going on. If you want to go home you can. I’ll be okay.”

Clint bit his lip and nodded. “We’ll talk in the morning,’ is all he said, and Brian held his gaze for a moment and then headed into his room.

Clint blew out a breath and closed his bedroom door and leaned his forehead against it. “Fuck,” he said, and he walked over and sat down on the bed. He flipped out his phone.

Later, he went to the bathroom halfway down the hall and took a shower, thinking about what Phil had said. This wasn’t Clint’s fault. Brian and Mark are adults and clearly have more than one issue to work through. That Clint didn’t have to fix this. He just had to be there for Brian and what he needed. All that was well and good, but Clint couldn’t stop the kernel of guilt that seemed to settle in his stomach as he got ready for bed.

As usual, he slept a few hours and then woke with the need to wander the house. Tonight, though, he headed downstairs and found himself making some tea on the stove and checking on his work email as he stood there. He heard Brian moving around, but resolved not to go find him. If Brian wanted to come downstairs with Clint, he would. He answered an email about a meeting a junior agent had missed last week and looked up only when Brian shuffled into the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar. He was wearing an old navy blue bathrobe that Clint was pretty sure belonged to Mark, and he didn’t say anything.

Clint pushed a cup of tea over once it was finished steeping and then turned to put away the tea canister and rinse out the infuser. “Did I ever tell you about the time when Barney dared me to break into the tiger cage at the circus?” he asked as he came back over to sit down next to Brian.

Brian’s face actually lit up and Clint couldn’t hold back a laugh. Brian had asked about the circus a handful of times since they’d met, but had learned to stop asking. “No, how old were you?” He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Clint looked up at the ceiling and squinted for a second. “Eleven, just. I think. It was only a couple months after we got to the circus, and things were still pretty new and fun.” Most times in Clint’s life were measured by ‘before’ and ‘after,’ and this was definitely the ‘before’ part of the circus. “I was . . .” he paused and grinned at Brian with a shrug. “I was a little shit then – I was happier at the circus than I could remember ever being, so I thought it was the coolest place that could possibly exist on earth. Plus I was eleven, so I thought-“

“You thought you were the coolest kid that could possibly exist on earth, right?” Brian interrupted.

Clint laughed again. “Yeah. Well, I actually thought Barney was the coolest kid, but I was a close second.” He took a sip of the sweet orange tea and had to get his bearings again. Talking about this was a double edged sword. He wished all of his memories of Barney were this good. “He dared me, and he was fifteen, and I figured he probably thought he was being clever, because what dummy breaks into a tiger cage?”

Brian laughed, and Clint grinned into his mug.

“We snuck into the car with the cages, and it turns out that Barney had gathered almost every kid on the lot to watch me chicken out or get eaten by tigers. He announced to everyone that he’d actually made a bet with one of the other older kids that I would do it. He said if I did it I could have five of the twenty bucks he was gonna make, the little entrepreneur.” He paused, thinking back to the shaggy red hair and crooked smile that made Barney’s green eyes dance when he was in a good mood.

“Did you do it?”

Clint drained his mug and nodded. “Surprised the shit out of every single kid except Barney. I picked the lock, slipped into the cage, and sat down with Betty, the tiger who jumped through rings. She let me lean into her and pet her while all the other kids whistled and groaned and yelled at Barney for double crossing them. He just shrugged, took the other kid’s twenty, and said ‘How was I supposed to know he’d made friends with the damned tiger?’

“Did he give you the money?” Brian asked.

“Yeah, actually he did.” That was ‘before,’ after all. “I asked him why he made the bet, and he laughed and said that he knew I wasn’t dumb, and that I would never have agreed to it if I couldn’t already do it.”

Brian smiled, and it was a knowing smile. “Brothers, man.”

Clint nodded and looked down at his empty mug. “Yeah,” he replied.

Brian reached over and rubbed Clint’s shoulders because he knew enough to know that Barney and Clint didn’t get many of those good moments in the end.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Brian stood up and stretched. “We should get some more sleep. Or are you going to wander the house some more?”

Clint laughed and stood up, too. “Nah. Sleep is good.”

Brian seemed to hesitate, but then he reached over and pulled Clint into a hug. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Clint didn’t reply. He just nodded and squeezed a little harder.

The next morning Clint showed Brian the swing he’d bought, and Brian insisted they put it together. “This is so nice, Clint,” he said as they pulled pieces out of the box.

“Brian,” Clint asked a bit later as he tossed around a screwdriver like it was a throwing knife. “I called Mark to ask if this swing was a good idea, and he didn’t say anything about you guys. He even acted like I might see him this weekend.”

Brian stood up and leaned against a tree, clenching his arms around himself. “This isn’t all his idea,” he said, and he didn’t meet Clint’s eyes. “He did move out, and he’s the one who started all of this, but . . .”

Clint stopped twirling the screwdriver. “What?”

“But he sideswiped me, Clint!” He shouted, and Clint took an involuntary step backward. Brian went on. “He sideswiped me and I didn’t know any of this and then he just fucking left! Okay? You’re not seeing him this weekend.” He kicked the empty swing box and stormed back into the house.

Clint dropped the screwdriver. He stood staring at the door Brian had slammed shut. This was new. A temper wasn’t something Clint had seen at all since he met Brian, but that, well, that was because they didn’t really . . . huh. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Clint,” Phil answered, and he had that ‘I miss you but I won’t say it out loud’ tone that Clint loved.

“Phil, hey. Are you busy?”

There was a pause and Clint heard the clatter of a keyboard. “Not now,” Phil replied. “What’s going on?”

Clint walked toward the back fence of Brian’s property. “Do Brian and I have a real relationship?” he asked, and then winced.

“A little context, please?”

Clint kicked at the ground around the pine tree that stood next to the fence. “Yeah. Sorry. Look, I just mean that every time I talk to Brian on the phone or even visit, everything’s ideal. You know, we both want to talk or we agree on a visit and look forward to it. How is that real when it’s not day-to-day life? Like, we’ve never been around each other day-to-day when shit is actual. You know?”

Phil didn’t answer right away. When he did, he sounded like he was thinking things through, and he spoke slowly. “Well, let’s start with the word ‘real.’ I mean, of course it’s real. It’s yours. It’s the relationship you have with him. You don’t lie to each other, you don’t ignore things about the others’ life on purpose or anything. It’s just long-distance.”

“Yeah, but it’s always been long distance. Maybe we don’t actually know each other.” Clint picked at the pine tree that stood tall. He pulled on a cone, but it wouldn’t break off.

Phil hummed for a second and then said, “I think you know what you can. Of course that’s not everything. My father didn’t know everything about me and I didn’t know everything about him, either. I remember after he died my mom and I were going through his things and she started crying. I asked what she was thinking about, and she told me she was still pissed at him for this crazy and kind of shady financial deal he’d tried to pull when I was really little and it backfired on him. We’d had to move houses. I didn’t know that he’d done that or that it had caused a rift in their marriage for a while. I had no idea.”

Clint tugged on the pine cone again. “Yeah, I guess no one knows their parents’ whole lives, but I mean, he just blew up at me and stormed inside. I realized I’ve never seen him angry. Maybe Mark is mad about us because we don’t really have a whole relationship, but Brian is putting a lot of stock in it.”

Phil sighed. “Clint. IF Mark is mad about you and Brian it’s probably because you’re an important relationship that came into their lives unexpectedly and abruptly. He’s not had to navigate around other relationships in Brian’s life before. I don’t think it’s because he thinks your relationship with Brian isn’t real. It’s very real, and that’s probably the problem.”

Clint pulled again and the pine cone came off in his hand. “But there’s a lot I don’t know about Brian that normal fathers and sons would know about each other. Like how they get mad and slam doors.”

“Okay,” Phil said, and Clint heard a shift in his voice to the mission-analyst mode. “You and Brian lack a   . . . foundation, I suppose, that fathers and sons who grew up together have. That’s just something to build, like you are right now. Just because you don’t have that foundation doesn’t mean what you do have isn’t real.”

Clint stared at the pine cone in his hand. It wasn’t very big, and he probably shouldn’t have pulled it off the tree, but it was pretty. The dark brown color hadn’t quite settled across the whole thing, so there was a light beige section that slowly darkened at the tip.  “What you’re also saying is that I should go in and try and help him again, even though he got mad.”

Phil chuckled. “Yes. Go build a foundation. And remember that this fight with Mark is not your fault. You aren’t responsible for Mark’s reactions to your relationship with Brian.”

“How’d you get so good at this?” Clint asked, tucking the pine cone into his pants pocket.

“I guess my foundation was pretty good,” Phil replied. “Now I have to get back to work. These mission budget reports aren’t going to write themselves, unfortunately.”

Clint took a deep breath. “Thanks, Phil. I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“I look forward to it.”

Clint shoved his phone back in his pocket and wandered back to where they’d been putting the swing together. When he looked at the house, he considered his own surprise at Brian’s temper. He looked down at the pile of pieces of the swing and took a deep breath. Maybe it was stupid, but the pile looked far more appealing than going in and confronting Brian about feelings. Plus if he waited, they’d have a swing to sit in while they talked. He picked up the screwdriver and got back to work.

About an hour later, as he was trying to jiggle the awning of the swing into its proper place, he heard the back door open. A moment later, Brian took the other end and helped him slot it into place. “Thanks,” Clint said, stepping back to wipe the sweat off his face with his t-shirt.

Brian looked at Clint carefully, and Clint had to blink away the thought that sometimes looking at Brian’s eyes was like looking in a mirror.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Brian said.

Clint couldn’t help the unexpected bitter laugh that escaped him at those words. “It’s really okay,” he said, but Brian cocked his head in confusion and Clint figured he should be open. “Sorry. My experience with apologies from fathers is non-existent. Thanks for apologizing, even though you don’t have to.”

Brian smiled a sad smile and nodded. “Well, I don’t usually do that. You were trying to help.”

“Do you want to talk about it anymore?” Clint asked.

Brian started picking up the boxes and scraps from the swing assembly process. “How about we hang out on the swing with some sandwiches?” he asked.

Clint bit is top lip for a second and then nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

As they finished eating, Brian set his plate down on the ground and leaned back. “The swing is really nice.”

Clint couldn’t help his grin. “I’m glad you like it.”

Brian smiled back at him and then sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Mark asked about a counselor and about working this out, but . . . I was really angry.”

It suddenly occurred to Clint that not all of his emotional train wreck traits came from life with Harold Barton. “Brian,” he started, but then the look on Brian’s face stopped him.

Tears tracked down Brian’s face and he dropped his chin to his chest and his shoulders shook. “I was really sad, Clint,” he whispered through his tears, “I was angry and sad and we’d been so good and he did sideswipe me completely.” His voice, which was usually a kind of assured calm, shook.

Clint sighed and rubbed his hand in circles on Brian’s back and let this storm of grief roll through. After a few minutes, he leaned into Brian’s shoulder. “I know it felt like you got sideswiped, but I don’t figure that Mark saw it that way. Which is why you should talk to him, even if that means a counselor.”

Brian nodded into his knees. “He calls every few days and leaves a message about it,” he mumbled.

Clint scrubbed a hand down his face. He wasn’t trained for this, he thought to himself. And then he thought about how it really wasn’t until he got to SHIELD before he ever saw ‘normal’ relationships in action, and how rocky his start with Phil was thanks to his ‘gaps,’ as Phil liked to call his ignorance about common things. He’d filled a lot of those gaps in over the years, though, and right now he was seeing what Brian was clearly to close and upset to see. “He wants to work this out.”

Brian looked up and his eyes were red. “Yeah, I guess he does.”

“Do you want that, too?”

Brian sucked in a very shaky breath and nodded.

“Then maybe a phone call of your own is in order?” Clint asked, as gently as he could.

Brian looked at Clint with a teary smile. “Okay,” he said.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and Clint pulled the pine cone back out of his pocket and picked at the edges.

“Are you okay, Clint?” Brian finally asked. “You got ambushed this weekend.”

Clint stared at the pine cone and made a decision. “Phil thinks this weekend is laying some foundation between us. Like we’re learning more about how we work.”

Brian nodded. “You learned I blow up sometimes.”

“Have you learned anything?” Clint asked, and he didn’t like how unsure his voice sounded.

Brian smiled. “I learned that you’re good at distracting me when I’m upset. I learned that you’ll wait for me to calm down if I’m mad.” He paused. “I already knew you cared about me, but I’m particularly glad about that this weekend.” He leaned into Clint’s shoulder.

They sat for a bit, and then decided to go out for a hike before dinner. The exercise and fresh air was relaxing, and when they settled back in at Brian’s kitchen table that night with takeout, they were both calm and back to some semblance of normal with their conversation and laughter.

That night as they cleaned up the few dishes in the sink before going to bed, Brian asked, “What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

Clint blew out a breath. “I have a favor to ask about that, actually.”

Brian looked surprised for a moment, and then looked carefully at Clint’s face like he could read his thoughts. Maybe he could. “You want to see Mark before you go,” he said flatly.

Clint nodded and stared at the patterns on the floor for a moment before meeting Brian’s gaze again. “Yeah. I kind of brought something for him for Father’s Day, too. I don’t have to, though.”

Brian blinked, and then looked thoughtfully at Clint. “It’s okay. You could meet him for breakfast at that waffle place you both like.” He smiled.

The next morning, after Brian gave him, like, four hugs and a couple of books to give to Phil, he left for the quirky waffle restaurant. Mark was already at a table and had ordered them both coffee. Clint thought he was going to fall over in shock when Mark stood and wrapped him in a tight hug before he could sit down. Mark was significantly bigger than Clint, and it felt like a bear hug. It was awesome. Clint held on a few seconds longer than was probably necessary, but something was settling in his chest at Mark’s hug. Apparently he’d been worried about Mark, too.

They sat down, and Clint took in how tired Mark looked, how his normally gorgeous dark hair was a bit too long, how he actually hadn’t matched his shirt and pants that day, how sad his deep brown eyes were. “You like a bit like garbage, Mark,” he said as lightly as he could, taking a sip of coffee.

Mark grinned and a little light came back into his eyes. “Yeah. I’m definitely aware.” He paused and looked out the window for a second before looking back at Clint. “Did he like the swing?”

Clint held his gaze for a moment and nodded. “Yeah. He liked it. Thanks again for the color approval.” They chatted for a few minutes about the yard and swing and the waiter came along and took their ridiculously huge waffle order (they had four different kinds and they were all amazing). They chatted easily again through breakfast, and stayed through three refills of coffee because Mark had some really good work stories to share, and it seemed like Mark was content to just sit there all morning.

“Are you working later?” Clint asked.

“Not today. I’m not sure what I’m doing,” he replied, and then he laughed bitterly. “As if that’s not the story of my damned life this month.”

“Mark,” Clint started, but Mark cut him off.

“No. We don’t need to talk about it. That’s not fair to you.” Mark waived the waiter over to get the bill.

Clint grabbed it before Mark could get to it and got a pretty harsh glare for his trouble. He stuck his tongue out and startled Mark into laughter. He added, “I’m getting the bill because it’s part of your Father’s Day present.”

Mark went very still. “What?”

Clint smiled and slid an envelope across the table. “Well, I was gonna get you both matching ties, but it seemed a little meaningless, so here’s this.”

Mark didn’t take it. He looked at Clint and swallowed thickly. “Why do you have something for me?’ he asked, his normally velvet voice gravelly, and then looked like he wished he hadn’t asked. Like he’d said something uncouth.

Clint reached across the table and squeezed his shoulder briefly and then leaned back. “I found out a year ago that I had a biological father who was pretty amazing and wanted to get to know me as a person. I knew pretty quickly that I was very lucky to have found him. Then I met you and figured I’d also hit the jackpot as far as step-dads go. You’ve been nothing but supportive of me, and even when you’re not sure about me or Brian and me, you’re kind. I know things are rough right now, but I love both of you, and when I thought about Father’s Day, I realized I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

Mark just stared at the envelope.

“It’s not much,” Clint assured him. “And I don’t know when you’ll have time, but…”

Mark blinked and pulled the envelope open. When he saw what was inside, he closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he looked back at Clint they were shiny with tears. “I hope,” he started, and then he had to stop and take a deep breath. “I hope I come with him the next time he comes. We can go then.”

Clint watched as he put the gift certificate to a pretty fancy golf club that Tony belonged to for some strange reason back in the envelope. “I’m pretty confident,” Clint said, and stood up to usher Mark outside to his car. They shook hands, and Mark told Clint to text him when he got back to the Tower safely.

As Clint got in his car and rolled the window down to say goodbye one more time, Mark’s phone rang. When he looked quickly at Clint after looking at the caller ID, Clint just grinned and waved. He pulled out of his parking spot as he heard Mark say, “Brian. I’m so damned glad you called.”

Clint was glad, too, and he settled into the drive and used the hands-free to call Phil and let him know he was on the road for home.

 

 


End file.
